


Saturday Come Slow

by ragingrainbow



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragingrainbow/pseuds/ragingrainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Because Nick’s mind has conjured up images of Harry spread over the table, and he </i>wants<i>.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Come Slow

Nick sits at the table, idly thumbing at his phone but really just watching Harry prepare a salad. Nick’s not even sure why he’s pretending to do stuff on his phone because Harry has _that_ smile, the one that means that he _knows_ Nick’s watching him.

And he should really put his phone down before he gives into temptation and Instagrams a photo of Harry like this - dressed only in an old pair of old tracksuit bottoms and making dinner in Nick’s kitchen. Wouldn’t that just blow up the internet.

It’s just that sometimes he wishes the whole world could see this Harry, could fall in love with all the great things about Harry that has nothing to do with him being one of the biggest pop-stars of the moment. 

Not that the world needs more reasons to love Harry Styles. And Nick also kind of likes that he gets to keep some parts of Harry all to himself. 

“Help,” Nick says, mostly because he wants Harry’s attention. (And because really, Harry’s just being a _tease_.)

Harry turns around, eyebrow cocked. 

Nick drops his phone on the table. It’s obviously a useless distraction, anyway. 

“I’m about to instagram half naked photos of you,” Nick offers by way of explanation. 

Harry grins at him. “Lemme make a few calls first. Bit of a heads-up.” 

Nick snorts. But he’s struck by Harry’s sincerity, the fact that maybe neither of them is completely joking. As much as he likes having Harry to himself, sometimes he really just wants to tell the world how lucky he is. That thought doesn’t even scare him as much as it used to. 

Harry puts the salad in the fridge, before he comes over and presses in between Nick’s legs to kiss him. 

“Got another twenty minutes on the nut roast,” he says against Nick’s lips. He kisses Nick again, before he slides onto his knees. He gets his fingers on Nick’s belt-buckle before Nick stops him. 

“Hang on, got a better idea.” Because Nick’s mind has conjured up images of Harry spread over the table, and he _wants_. 

Harry goes easy - he always does, and sometimes Nick hardly knows what to do with it - gets Nick’s phone out of the way and lets Nick press him down against the wood. 

Nick kisses along Harry’s spine, and Harry shudders, skin breaking out in gooseflesh. He thrusts forward, and Harry ruts back against him, whining softly. 

Nick sucks a bruise into the inked flesh of Harry’s bicep. “Eager?” 

“Fifteen minutes,” comes Harry’s hoarse reply. 

Nick chuckles, backing up briefly so he can get at Harry’s trousers. He gets them down and presses two fingers into him, finding that he’s still loose enough from earlier. Nick’s thankful he had the foresight to keep a condom in his pocket (Harry is 19 after all, and they haven’t seen each other for a couple of months, it’s wise to be prepared). 

Harry's tight when he pushes in, and Nick takes it slow. Harry keens and pushes back, hips stuttering restlessly against the table. 

“Easy, love.” Nick runs his hands along Harry’s arms, up and down, before settling them on Harry’s hips, holding him still. 

Nick pauses when he’s all the way in. He lets go of Harry with one hand, rolling his hips only slightly as he starts wanking Harry off. 

Harry makes little hurt noises - the kind that say he wants to _move_ but he won’t, because Nick wanted him still. 

“Don’t come,” Nick says. “Don’t want it to get on the table.” Harry’s protest is lost as Nick thrusts his hips. 

Nick loves how noisy Harry gets; how easily he obeys. He wanks Harry until Harry is writhing, noises becoming a soft litany of “pleaseplease _please_ ”; but Harry doesn’t come, won’t unless Nick tells him he can. 

Nick lets go of Harry’s cock, leans lower over Harry’s back and gets his hand in Harry’s hair instead; getting precome in the famed curls as Harry arches off the table. He doesn’t have as much leverage like this, but it hardly matters because he’s so close already. He bites into the skin on Harry’s shoulder as he climaxes, and Harry cries out, but doesn’t come. 

Nick takes a few moments to catch his breath, draped over Harry’s back, before he stands up. He throws the condom in the bin before tucking himself back into his jeans. 

Harry shifts off the table, looking a little unsteady on his feet. Nick appreciates the view for a moment - Harry’s especially gorgeous when he’s slightly debauched and still hard - before he speaks. 

“Get the roast.” And then, just so Harry knows Nick’s happy with him. “I’ll blow you after dinner.” 

He could blow Harry now, really. But sometimes he just enjoys watching Harry squirm.


End file.
